“We’re gonna avoid trouble,” Altan grumbled to himself, his rifle barking twice as he dropped another ant. “In and out, he says.”

He paused to reload, yanking the magazine from his rifle and thumbing in a few fresh rounds, a trick he'd picked up from a mercenary he'd met just days ago. Ear protection had been another gem of advice. He'd made sure to follow it, though even with earplugs, muffs, and a suppressor screwed on, his ears still rang. He’d likely be dealing with tinnitus for the rest of the day—the tight spaces of the metro only amplified every shot.

“If I get out of this, I’m buying myself a fucking laser rifle,” he muttered, slamming the magazine back in with a tap to seat it. He sighed, continuing his trek through the Marigold Metro. The place felt like a tomb, the air thick with the stale scent of decay and rot, undercut with the sharp tang of chemicals. It was as though the very walls were holding their breath. Every sound—every scuffle of claws or creak of distant metal—echoed like the whispers of the dead. His NODs carved narrow beams through the dark, revealing shattered tiles choked with debris and dust. Broken benches and rusted vending machines jutted out of the debris like the bones of some ancient beast. Graffiti covered the walls, layers of faded pre-war slogans buried beneath crude Wastelander scrawls: ‘Death is mercy’, ‘Stay out or burn’, and most chilling of all, the word ‘QUEEN’ painted in dripping red letters next to a crude drawing of an ant.

“Well, if that ain’t fucking ominous,” Altan muttered, moving past the graffiti. His rifle bucked and barked as he continued his sweep through the metro, picking off ants as he found them. Several times, swarms forced him into tight corridors and onto still escalators as choke points, to avoid being overrun and cooked alive. During his sweep, Altan found several dead wastelanders—one curled up in a ticket booth, clutching a tiny .32 pistol and a holotape. Both found their way into his pockets without hesitation. Deeper in, he stumbled across another body near a laser pistol, its surface worn from use. Scattered nearby were several energy cells, which Altan gathered up with a muttered, "Jackpot."

"You're not a rifle, but you'll do for now," he said, inspecting the weapon. His assault rifle lay snug across his chest, secured by its three-point harness, as he opted for the laser pistol in the claustrophobic confines of the metro.

The deeper he ventured, the more oppressive the metro became. The distant echoes of scuttling claws kept him on edge, while the sharp, chemical stench of whatever fueled their fire grew stronger with every step. He’d burned through nearly three energy cells by the time he finally stumbled upon something unexpected—a man in a lab coat, standing amidst the chaos with a wide-eyed grin.

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"You startled me!" the man said, his nasal voice slicing through the tension like a knife. "You really mustn't sneak up on people like that."

Altan blinked, narrowing his eyes as he assessed the man standing before him—wide-eyed, unbothered by the chaos around them. His finger hovered over the safety of the laser pistol, tension crawling up his spine as he took in the bizarre sight before him. “My apologies. Didn’t expect to find anyone alive down here.”

The man grinned, unphased. "Ah, precisely why this is the ideal place for my work! Do you realize you’re trampling about in a delicate and highly sensitive experimentation area?"

Altan’s eyes narrowed. "You're the one responsible for the fire-breathing ants?" It was less a question, and more an accusation.

The man’s grin widened. "Ah, yes! You see, I’m working on reducing the girth of these insects using a pre-birth mutagen. Generational shrinkage! Isn’t that clever?"

Altan exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. "Dr. Lesko?"

"Ah! Yes! Dr. Westin Lesko at your service!" The man beamed. "The issue, you see, is that I can't access my terminal to make the necessary adjustments. The damage I’ve caused needs repairing." He flailed his arms around like an excited child.

"The damage you’ve caused, Doc," Altan interrupted, his frustration mounting, "is that the whole town—except one little boy—is dead, or driven off. I found two bodies on my way down here, and there are more up top." Altan sighed deeply. "But that’s in the past. How do we stop this?"

Lesko didn’t seem to notice Altan’s frustration, his voice still tinged with excitement. "Ah, yes! My portable terminal is in the hatchery chamber, near the ant queen. If I can reach it, I can finish my work and improve the mutagen!"

Altan’s lips thinned, and his eyes hardened. "Why not just kill the queen?"

Lesko blinked, as though the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. "If I killed the queen, months of data would be lost! No, no, she must remain unharmed. Your job is to eliminate the ‘nest guardians’—filthy little abominations!" He waved his hand dismissively.

"And that’s it? Really?" Altan raised an eyebrow, skepticism thick in his voice.

"Yes, yes, that’s it!" Lesko nodded enthusiastically. "I’ve rigged my equipment to emit an Inhibitor Pulse. When activated, the ants will lose their empathic link to the queen and destroy each other in a frenzy. It’ll be glorious!" Lesko gave an excited clap, utterly oblivious to Altan’s sarcasm.

Altan sighed, his frustration palpable as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Fine. I’ll do it. Just show me where to go."

Lesko led him to a flimsy wooden door hastily tacked to the opening of a tunnel deeper in the metro. "There you go, young man. Beyond that door lies the hatchery chamber. Remember, the queen must remain unharmed."

Altan brushed past him, descending into the chamber. The floor vibrated under his boots, and the skittering sounds of thousands of tiny claws scraping against stone echoed in the distance, along with the distant screeches of the queen.

"Alright, Doc," Altan muttered, checking the charge in his laser pistol. "Time to finish this.”